Gentlemen's Agreement
by Marguerite1
Summary: Like Alice, Josh is prone to giving himself very good advice that he very seldom follows. Takes place during "War Crimes."


GENTLEMEN'S AGREEMENT

Classification: Mid-ep for "War Crimes," J/D friendship, some UST on Josh's part.   
Summary: Like Alice, Josh gives himself very good advices that he very seldom   
follows.   


*** 

Do nothing. 

He pounds his fists on his thighs until the muscles burn. His cheeks ache from   
grimacing. He swivels from side to side in his chair, imagining a leather-bound   
book graced with Donna's extravagant scrawl, imagining it lying on her   
nightstand, imagining a man's hand rifling the well-thumbed pages. Imagining the   
man's other hand stroking Donna's... 

Do absolutely nothing. 

Like Alice, Josh is prone to giving himself very good advice that he very seldom   
follows. He propels himself out of his chair and manages to slam his door open.   
Donna is sitting at her desk, still wearing her wet raincoat, and she gazes at   
him with those enormous, fear-filled eyes. 

"Josh...?" 

As he marches up to her he holds up his hand, palm outward. It's a stern gesture   
that makes Donna sink even further into herself, so he tries to soften it with a   
wan smile. 

"I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." 

She just nods at him. Acquiescent and silent. Donna, acquiescent and silent. 

It doesn't help that Josh doesn't remember exactly where Ainsley's office is. It   
takes too long for him to get to her down in the bowels of the White House, in   
the pestilential hellhole she calls her office, and by the time he gets there   
some of his indignation has simmered down. 

Ainsley sets down her papers and looks up at him. "Josh. How'd Donna's   
deposition go?" 

"Did you know that he was going to be their lawyer?" 

"He, who?" 

"He, Cliff." Josh manages to convey a world of disdain in the pronunciation of   
the name. 

"He's the one who deposed Donna?" Ainsley's voice rises in pitch. "I never...I   
didn't think..." 

"No. You didn't think." Josh leans against the door frame, his hands in his   
pockets, staring up at the dingy ceiling fixture. Words trip over one another in   
their haste to be heard. "How could you think...what possessed you...how could   
this possibly have seemed like a good idea?" 

Ainsley looks small in her oversized sweatshirt, her hair tied up in a ponytail   
with more meticulous structure than Donna's, allowing not one wisp to part   
company with its fellows. She slumps a little in her chair and drops her pen   
into a ceramic cup. "You said she was stressed. You asked me to see if I could   
help her out a little." 

"Yeah. I thought that meant...I dunno, talking, tea, whatever it is that women   
do. I didn't know you were planning to set her up with...well, you know." 

She cocks her head to one side and narrows her eyes. "A Republican, Josh? A man?   
Which bothers you more?" 

It's like a slap in the face. "Look, Ainsley, I didn't--" 

"I'll tell you what I thought. I thought that a young, attractive woman like   
Donna might benefit from having something in her life other than drudgery and   
terror." 

"Well, if working for me and facing a House investigation wasn't enough drudgery   
and terror, imagine what it'll be like for her when she's in prison for per--" 

Horrible, frozen silence stalks in ever-decreasing circles around him. Ainsley   
turns white as the full impact of Josh's words sink in. 

"Don't say one more word, Josh. I mean it. I don't want to know, I can't know,   
anything that happened today." Ainsley puts her fingertips to her lips, the   
French-manicured nails shining in the glow of her desk lamp. "Oh, Josh. Is it   
bad?" she whispers, and he can only nod his response. She blinks fast, still   
keeping her fingers over her mouth as if to restrain the lilting words that want   
to come streaming out. "We can fix it." 

He has trouble taking in air. "I don't think we can," he says, half-inhaling the   
words. 

"Cliff's not a vindictive man, Josh." 

He glares at her, eyebrows raised. "Let's find out." At Ainsley's nod, Josh   
steps forward and pushes the telephone toward her. 

There's no need to tell her what to do. She fingers some cards on her Rolodex   
and pauses. Her lips move as she punches in the numbers, and it annoys Josh for   
some weird reason he doesn't have time to deal with. 

"Cliff. It's Ainsley. Pick up, I know you're home by now." 

She waits, listening, and after too long an interval Josh can hear a man's voice   
crackling on the other end of the line. "I'm not asking you to, honestly. But   
there's someone here who wants--no, it's not Donna." 

Josh takes the phone from her hand and puts it to his ear, motioning Ainsley   
away. "It's not Donna, it's Donna's boss. I'm sure you were expecting my call." 

"Actually, you were about the last person I thought I'd be hearing from today." 

He has an earnest voice, damn him. Ainsley slowly gets up from her desk and   
walks out into the dank corridor, mumbling something about hot coffee. Josh is   
alone with the disembodied voice of the man Donna had...no, he can't go there.   
Instead, he sharpens his tone. "Why don't we cut to the chase?" 

"And by 'chase,' you're referring to what?" 

"What will it take for you not to do this to her?" 

"Josh, I--" 

"You're addressing the White House Deputy Chief of Staff. It's Mr. Lyman." 

It's also snotty. Unforgivable. Possibly lethal. But he can't bear to hear his   
first name from the mouth of this man. 

The silence is full of bitter frost. 

"I didn't want this," Cliff says. "But I know she keeps a diary. I'm under   
obligation. You're a lawyer, you know that. She lied." 

"You snooped." 

"That's not a crime." 

"It ought to be." Josh imagines the diary again, this time with the letters   
running from tears splashing onto the ink. Whether it's Cliff or himself who   
causes those tears, he's not sure. 

He counts to ten, then does it again in French, waiting for Cliff to say   
something. 

"Mr. Lyman, I know this looks...terrible. But I swear that Ainsley didn't know   
anything about my transfer. I'd just found out about it, and it hadn't connected   
yet." 

"Donna said you left her standing in the middle of the street." 

A pause, and a sigh. "I did. It was...I was shocked when I realized what my job   
was about to entail." Another sigh. "I'm not like that. I went to her place to   
apologize and--" 

"Yeah." Josh sees Ainsley's shadow in the hall. "Look. I meant what I said. I   
want a way for this not to have to happen to her." 

"I understand completely. But I don't know what to do, other than to call her   
attorneys and have them walk her back so she can phrase her answer differently.   
That's how we fix it." 

"What if it's not worth fixing?" Josh sits on the corner of Ainsley's desk,   
frowning when his hand comes into contact with half of a stale pastry. "I mean,   
what if there's nothing material in the diary?" 

"Have you read it?" 

"Have you?" 

Cliff's voice darkens. "No. I just noticed it sitting there on the--" 

He can't let Cliff finish that thought. Nightstand, bed, floor. No, no, no,   
Donna didn't do this. She didn't do it if he doesn't hear the details. "I   
haven't read it either. So this could be a tempest in a teapot." 

"Possibly." Cliff sounds hesitant. "You want what's best for her. We both do." 

"How could I not?" Josh murmurs. "I owe her everything." 

He can almost hear Cliff nodding. "Funny. She says the same thing about you." 

"Nah." The steel bands around his heart loosen, replaced by something softer,   
something that still tugs at him yet lets him breathe. He remembers Donna after   
the shooting, how she was there for him. Every day, no matter how horrible it   
was, and it was horrible, she had been there. He shudders. "Donna means a...I   
can't..." He runs a hand through his hair until it stands on end. "I can't stand   
here and watch this happen to her and not try to do anything." 

A pause. "We'll need to read it," Cliff says cautiously. 

"No." Josh isn't surprised at how emphatic his answer is, only at how softly he   
speaks. "I don't need to read it. You do. I'll let you look at it." 

"Will Donna be willing?" 

"Considering the options I'm sure you gave her, I imagine she will be. You call   
her, tell her the details, and I'll confirm them with her. But you can't come to   
her apartment. We'll meet - you know that fountain plaza near her place? Let's   
meet there at 7:30." 

"Agreed." 

The line goes dead. Josh puts the phone down and calls to Ainsley. "He's going   
to talk to us. I think we--" 

"Josh, did you not hear one word of what I said before? We're officers of the   
court!" 

"Actually, it's just you. I'm not licensed anymore." 

"Don't be a smartass. I can not know anything. I do not know anything. There is   
nothing I know." 

Josh's head aches. He holds up a hand, wearily. "Look, can the Department of   
Redundancy Department have its meeting later?" 

She glares at him, returning to her desk and taking her seat with more vehemence   
than is strictly necessary. "We didn't have this conversation." 

"What conversation?" Josh heads for the door, then turns around, holding the   
frame with one hand and leaning back into Ainsley's makeshift office.   
"Seriously. Thank you." 

"See this?" She holds up a canister of some sort. He thinks it may be Cheese   
Whiz. "It's a big ol' can of Josh-B-Gone, and I'm spraying you with it. Now,   
move." 

"Yes, ma'am." He grins at her and she smiles back, just a little, before picking   
up her papers once more. Josh's steps are a little lighter as he heads back up,   
knowing that Donna will be on the phone when he returns and that there is, at   
last, something to be done. 

*** 

"This situation is a little like a one-hour photo place. You sit around and wait   
to see what develops." 

There's no indication that Donna heard Josh's weak joke. Ever since Cliff came   
to take the diary and read it, she has been a statue - frozen, gilded marble.   
"Here, take my coat," Josh offers, but Donna doesn't respond. She just sits and   
lets the wintery breeze lift her hair like a sail. He shrugs out of his coat and   
drapes it over her shoulders. "You need this." 

"Why?" 

"Because...I'm cold." He gives her a smile, a sweet one, the type that usually   
leaves her smiling back, but tonight her lips don't flicker. 

Is she recalling the feel of warm hands on her body? Sleeping with the enemy.   
He'd expected so much more from her. Oh, Donna. 

The minutes tick by, time as tremulous as her fast, shallow breaths. Josh   
wonders if she's going into shock, and the memory makes his chest tighten. He   
slips his arm back around her, sitting a little closer and trying to convince   
himself that it is for her comfort rather than his own. "It's going to be okay." 

"How?" 

"Well, if there's nothing relative to the investigation, then he's just gonna   
give it back to you. If there is, we'll get the best lawyers to help you find a   
way to correct the mistake." 

"What if the mistake can't be fixed, Josh? What if my lie comes back to haunt   
us? Or the President? What if they put me in jail?" Her voice cracks on the last   
word and tears well up in her tired eyes. 

"You're not going to jail, Donna." He grasps her by the shoulders, his fingers   
digging into the jacket. "Donna, look at me. You're not going to jail. I   
promise." 

"Don't make a promise you can't keep, Joshua." 

"I can keep this promise," he says more firmly. She's staring at him,   
dumbfounded. "I'll get you out of the country, I'll send you   
to...to...Switzerland. They don't extradite people for keeping diaries, and you   
can finally learn to ski." That earns him the beginning of a smile. "I'll get   
money to you, I'll help change your name and give you a whole new life, but I   
swear to God, you will not go to jail." 

He forgets to breathe. The world's spinning too fast and he's dizzy. He lowers   
his head for a moment. 

"I won't let anything happen to you." 

The words hang in the air like vapor. 

"But what I did was so stupid." Donna's voice is raspy with exhaustion and   
frustration. She leans forward, her hands on her knees, her hair veiling her   
face. "And now he's reading...it's...I'm so embarrassed, Josh. I don't think I   
can stand it." 

"You're Donnatella Moss. You can stand anything." 

"Not this," she whispers. "I'm sitting out here, letting two men I care--" She   
stops herself. "I'm like some medieval maiden letting two knights battle for her   
honor while she just sits around being helpless and pathetic. You don't get over   
this kind of humiliation." 

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye. She's unmoving, wary. "Donna,   
remember the chicken soup Toby brought me when they finally let me try to eat?   
It stayed down for, like, fifteen seconds, and the only reason I didn't choke to   
death was because you held my head up for me. It doesn't get much more   
humiliating than that. Did you think less of me?" 

She shakes her head, not even bothering to sweep away the hair that falls into   
her face. 

"Then please..." 

She sighs. "You're right." 

He's never been less happy about being right than he is at this moment. Sitting   
here, next to Donna, barely touching her, he's waiting for an axe either to fall   
or to disappear. He's never been less happy, period. 

So intent is he on their combined levels of misery that he doesn't hear Cliff   
walk up to the edge of the fountain. He holds the diary between his hands,   
almost in an attitude of prayer. 

Josh rises and heads toward the fountain, narrowing his eyes and trying to gauge   
Cliff's reaction. "Interesting reading?" 

"Two years in the life of Donnatella Moss? What do you think?" His expression is   
soft and vaguely sad. "I learned a lot." 

"Anything you and I need to talk about?" 

Cliff chuckles. "It's tempting, just to see the look on your face - but no. Her   
only mention of the MS was the night she said she was told - before that,   
there's nothing that has any bearing on our investigation." 

Josh hardly dares to breathe. He wasn't talking out of his hat. It's really   
going to be okay, with or without Switzerland. "So. What happens now?" 

"I give this back to her." 

He's dying inside. And then what? But he can't ask that. "So...you're giving   
this back to her." 

"Yeah." He smiles but his eyes are full of misery. "I'm giving it back." 

The lump rising in his throat is threatening to cut off his oxygen supply, so he   
just nods. Turning, he sees Donna watching them with an alarming air of   
detachment. "C'mere, it's okay," he whispers. 

She touches his arm as she walks past him to Cliff. Josh tears himself away and   
takes enough steps backwards so that he can't hear what they're saying. 

Cliff gives Donna the little book, letting his hand remain on hers for a few   
moments. They look at each other, faces full of regret and sorrow. Josh can read   
Cliff's lips as he says "You're welcome." Cliff cups Donna's face, so sad, so   
gentle, and leans over to kiss her on the forehead. He nods at Josh, then turns,   
hunching over with his hands in his pockets. Donna watches, eyes shimmering, as   
Cliff walks around the fountain and disappears into the night. 

Everything in Josh's soul cries out in dismay. He wants to rush up and enfold   
Donna in his arms, to give her his warmth, to use his hands to smooth away the   
anguish in her face. 

"You want coffee?" he asks instead, and she finally smiles, sunlight breaking   
through the clouds. 

"Joshua Lyman, when did I start working for you?" 

He throws his head back and laughs although he doesn't really want to. He can't   
buy her anything but coffee, can't give her anything but time, can't take away   
the pain and fear and regret that are bringing little creases around the corners   
of her mirthless eyes. But he can buy her coffee, and he can listen, and he can   
drive her home and watch from his car as she ascends the stairs alone, clutching   
the diary to her heart. 

***   
END   
*** 

With endless thanks to Jill Kirby for checking my department of redundancy   
department's repetitive repetition. 

Feedback would be appreciated at marguerite@swbell.net.   
Return to West Wing.   



End file.
